


What You Need

by doodledinmypants



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Control Kink, Eames forging everyone else for sexual purposes, F/M, M/M, Multi, No but really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames knows Arthur's secrets, and always knows what he needs, even though Arthur never says a word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> This is a serious departure from my usual writing style (present tense? almost no dialogue? what's WRONG with me?!), and my first ever Inception fic.

Say what you will about Eames the forger—that he's a liar, a cheat, an incorrigible flirt—but he can keep a secret.

He keeps Arthur's secrets best of all.

Eames never wears his own face when they fuck in the dreams. Every time, it is someone different, depending on what Arthur needs in that moment. Eames has an endless repertoire of faces, voices, bodies, so it never gets stale or boring. Arthur doesn't even need to tell him who or what he wants anymore; Eames knows.

He can see the way Arthur looks at Ariadne, the same way Ariadne looks at Cobb, so during their next session he slips into the sweet shape of their young architect and presses himself to Arthur in all the ways he's ached for, but would never say. It's gentle, tender, the way Arthur isn't always with some of Eames' female shapes, and Arthur is weeping quietly when they reach climax together, like a scene from a romance novel.

Eames never takes that shape again.

Arthur appreciates Saito's maturity and familiar penchant for the clean lines of a suit. Eames wears the businessman's form commandingly, forces the point man to his knees, an undone zipper the only concession he makes for undressing as Arthur sucks him off. Arthur comes in his own trousers without being touched, though the wet, sticky spot makes him wrinkle his nose in distaste. 

Fischer is too pretty to resist, and this time it's Eames on his knees, those fine cheeks hollowing for Arthur as the point man twists his fingers through soft, pampered hair. Arthur fucks his mouth mercilessly, murmuring words that Eames can't quite make out, but they sound like revenge. Jealousy. When Fischer—Eames—dribbles a bit onto Arthur's shoes, he makes the heir lick them clean.

Usually, it's Cobb. Arthur takes him, or is taken by him—it doesn't really seem to matter to Arthur. Eames speaks in his voice, tells Arthur how much he needs him, how much he trusts him, how much Arthur means to him. Sometimes Arthur lets him talk, and sometimes he shuts him up with ruthless kisses, fucking him into a mattress until they're both raw and sore and spent. It's never gentle, but always a little too intimate for Eames' comfort. Of all the people he pretends to be, it's only Cobb that makes him feel like an intruder.

Only when they're awake will Arthur deign to touch Eames as himself. Eames likes these times better than any dream, and he takes his time undressing Arthur, layer by immaculate layer, taking him apart with hands and lips and tongue and teeth. When he slides into the point man, Arthur shudders and keeps his eyes open, watching Eames, always Eames. Eames thinks he prefers that, even though he used to think it was weird to have a lover watching him with such intensity. Now he knows that Arthur is seeing only him, instead of someone else.

He asks Arthur once, why he won't have sex with Eames—just Eames—in the dreams. Arthur gets a strange look on his face as he dresses and leaves Eames' hotel room, but doesn't answer. Eames doesn't hear from him for a week.

Later, he gets it. Arthur doesn't even need to explain it, because like the rest of their relationship, Eames learns to understand what it is that Arthur needs from him without being told. Not in so many words, anyway. 

In the dream world, Arthur is in control. He fucks Saito, or Ariadne, or Cobb, or Fischer, or any of the nameless blondes, brunettes, redheads in Eames' vast collection because he needs to be in control. Of himself, of his choice in partners, and of everything that happens between them. He takes control of the others in a way he can't do in reality, because even as the best point man in the business, the human element is not his to command. Even when he's on his knees, receiving instead of giving, he's in control. It's part of his very being, his core identity, his job. Every detail is his to direct. Even his choice of totems, a loaded die, reflects this; there is no such thing as chance or chaos in his ideal world. There is only one variable, one possible outcome, and he holds it in his grasp.

With Eames, however, he relinquishes that. In their hotel rooms, or cheap flats, or highrise penthouse suites, or dirty warehouse bathrooms, he lets Eames take the reins. He trusts Eames, the way Cobb trusts Arthur, to take care of him. To take that control and keep it safe, so he can let go once in awhile. So he doesn't have to shoulder all of the responsibility.

When Eames finally gets that, he calls Arthur. The point man comes to him without question, and Eames takes him into his arms and kisses him breathless, before leading him to the bed. There is a question in Arthur's eyes, on his lips, as Eames removes his tie and blindfolds him with it. Arthur shakes, but doesn't protest, as Eames ties him to the headboard with soft, silken scarves. Eames removes his shoes and trousers for him, but leaves the shirt, only unbuttoning it so that he can explore the smooth, heated skin beneath. Then, with his mouth, he drives Arthur mad until the slimmer man is panting and wrecked beneath him, writhing and bucking into the air, keening for more. Eames gives it to him, all he needs. Only what he needs. Because Eames knows.

Eames unties Arthur and removes the blindfold, drawing Arthur once again into his arms and kissing him, more slowly this time, with a tenderness he's never shown before. Arthur is loose and pliant against him, staring up at him with a kind of wonder.

“I know, darling,” says the forger, because he does. “I know your secrets.”

Arthur buries his face into Eames' neck and just breathes. He doesn't need to say anything, because he never does. Eames already knows.


End file.
